<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Grian’s Other Side by goosebxrry</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24873607">Grian’s Other Side</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/goosebxrry/pseuds/goosebxrry'>goosebxrry</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hermitcraft RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Kingdom of Valor - Freeform, Minecraft Evolution - Freeform, also, anyways enjoy, evil!grian, hermitcraft seasons 6 and 7, i dont theres really not any detailed gore but death tw?, idk i thought of this the other day and thought it fit our gremlin, lotsa evil stuff, okay so! grian is... not a good person in this, yhs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:07:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,841</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24873607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/goosebxrry/pseuds/goosebxrry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grian’s been through a lot, and it changed a minor character flaw into something much more violent and dark. This rabbit hole had to end somewhere.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Grian’s Other Side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so! if general violence upsets you dont read this bc thats mainly what it is. evil!grian. yep. </p><p>also i havent even gotten to where grian comes into the story in yhs and i havent watched the little kid version at all, so sorry if those bits are vague &gt;.&gt;</p><p>anyway pls enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had always been there, an emotion unnamable and generally quiet, sitting at the back of Grian’s mind. But it didn’t go unnoticed.</p><p>It started back when he first began adventuring, his very first world. He didn’t understand; he loved the game the universe had created, one of hardships and difficulty— but also one of love and life. He could collect animals, curious and sweet cows and docile sheep, pen them up and feed them wheat until the family grew.</p><p>And then he would need food and draw his blade, stepping into the usually calm pen with a sense of purpose.</p><p>And maybe he shouldn’t have felt the strange pride, even joy, upon seeing the little glowing orbs gathering at his feet, phasing through his shoes as his body absorbed them.</p><p>Maybe he shouldn’t have enjoyed seeing the once-alive creature turn to nothing but a small puff of smoke and a pile of wool and meat. Maybe he shouldn’t have felt satisfaction when he did the same to countless more animals, hostile and passive alike.</p><p>But he did.</p><p>Soon he was travelling through worlds like it was nothing, learning how to properly handle a blade and a bow, (though he much preferred the weight of the sword, the feeling of swinging it) learning to be accurate and deadly.</p><p>He became better and better. His affinity for building grew and soon he was known for that, but he enjoyed the thing that had always been there. The thing that always would be.</p><p>Then he was in a different world, this time with friends. He was a wizard, and though he wasn’t strong, the feeling remained. He’d pushed someone off a cliff to get his powers.</p><p>And he’d never felt so alive, watching the man in navy blue robes fall, hitting the rocks below and passing on the strange powers to Grian himself. He could do so much more, now.</p><p>His friends were, for the most part, nice to him and he couldn’t ever see himself lashing out. Not currently, anyway. Taurtis was always sweet, and although Sam was less than kind at times and rather apathetic— even cruel —he wouldn’t use them on his friends.</p><p>He eventually used them on another person, though. A witch.</p><p>He stole her powers in a game of ‘wizards chess,’ swiping at her in a fit of madness until she passed out, the power she once held drifting to him.</p><p>She wouldn’t wake up again.</p><p>And this continued, although some rather horrible things happened to him. He wanted to forget them, wanted to start over. He didn’t want to continue in this world any longer, so he found a way to worldjump and disappeared.</p><p>He was reborn, the memories erased for the most part but the feeling still there— even if it wasn’t as exercised. Killing ants with a magnifying glass was different than slaughtering sheep and pigs.</p><p>Sometimes he would hear a certain phrase or the he would make a specific expression in the mirror and the memories would rush back in fragments, but most was gone.</p><p>His friends were there, too. Sam and Taurtis. They were kids.</p><p>He didn’t remember too much, you know how long term memories work. Childhood all merges together into one or two memorable things.</p><p>But he and his friend group stayed together, even through high school. The feeling was there, but it changed. He witnessed terrible things, things even he wouldn’t have wanted to do.</p><p>He wished he could forget some of those memories. He never wanted to see Sam again after it was over, he wanted to never see himself again. He just wanted to restart, brand new. No repressed memories to trigger, no terrible thoughts that now lingered a little more presently, none of that.</p><p>But the universe didn’t answer his pleas and instead sent him away with everything still horribly fresh. He did his best to repress it all himself.</p><p>And now he was back to how it all began— even his old clothing. A cosplay of Link, something he knew he’d once known but couldn’t put anything to it but a name and outfit. He called this new world Evo, for it would evolve with time.</p><p>(How did he know that? He just did. It was like an outside force was more intelligent than he, giving him only snipets of truth, of knowledge.)</p><p>And the opportunity to kill countless sheep and cows was back, and you better believe Grian took it. He did it to unwind, he did it to calm his nerves when something upset him.  It wasn’t healthy, sure, but it made him happy.</p><p>Soon he discovered TNT, a brand new and perfect way to wreak havoc. And chaos. He thrived in chaos.</p><p>It was so jumbled, so terrifying and loud and destructive— it ruined people’s hard work, it killed. It made them angry and scared, the sound of it detonating enough to make anyone shudder in anticipation.</p><p>Maybe it made him happy, knowing others were suffering like he’d been forced to. Experience bad things, just like him. He remembered things from all across the span of his life, from the very first sheep he killed to the person he pushed off a ledge, the sight of his ‘friend’, towering over him and dripping with blood that wasn’t his own— </p><p>But that wasn’t something he wanted to think about. He just wanted to make others feel upset.</p><p>And that he did. He destroyed the Property Police station, he destroyed huge spaces underground, he would even leave the vicinity of everyone else to just blow holes on the surface, smiling as dirt and stone was strewn across the destroyed landscape.</p><p>He eventually built up a hostile creature farm, the only use being to collect the materials he needed. Then he built another, a better one, where he could see them perish.</p><p>And oh, it felt fantastic. Seeing the creepers and spiders, zombies and skeletons, anything that fell from it smash into the ground and turn to dust.</p><p>He was happy, for a while.</p><p>Then they arrived. They built with obsidian and bedrock, spoke in rhymes and became the self-proclaimed Gods of the server. They started to be addressed as the Watchers.</p><p>And soon it was Grian’s time to leave, according to them. He couldn’t do much, just scream for someone to save him, to take him back, as he was pulled through a portal and taken away.</p><p>He was given a mask and robes, taught a new language and a new way of life.</p><p>Standard Galactic became the language that went through his head when he thought, and the only thing he did anymore was destroy. Maybe it was a good coping mechanism to have when that’s all you can do.</p><p>He hopped from server to server, building the towers he’d grown accustomed to and smiling as people panicked, doing their best to please him. He was in charge now, and no-one could defy him without facing his wrath. He stored TNT in his back pocket, at the ready, and a flint in steal in his hand.</p><p>He was feared. It only egged him on. Sure, things were terrible— he was treated like trash by his new family and friends, treated like dirt compared to them, diamonds. It made things worse, and ever step forward was another two back.</p><p>And then, he was saved.</p><p>A kind man who called himself Xisuma was suddenly the only thing from the End that was around, and he wasn’t cruel and he didn’t ridicule Grian.</p><p>And for the longest time, things were perfect. He had found peace, he had found happiness and didn’t need to destroy.</p><p>But it didn’t last long.</p><p>First, it began with playful chaos. Pranks and chickens, utilizing his elytra, mostly on an old friend of his who was now his neighbour.</p><p>Then he began a war, splitting the server in half and playing along, the feeling of his sword sinking into flesh that didn’t belong to some poor animal bringing a smile to his face and a fresh feeling to his heart. The sight of someone like him, a human, a player, falling in front of him before turning to dust— it drove him mad with joy.</p><p>He was alive again, he was back. This was perfect. This felt right.</p><p>But nothing good lasts forever, and reluctantly he agreed to come up with a date to play a game of capture the flag to finish it up.</p><p>Then he started a demolition service, an excuse to use TNT. His old passion, not left forgotten. He built infinity rooms to trap and terrorize his friends, hear them yelling for him to let them out, they just wanted their senses returned.</p><p>But even that wasn’t enough. He wanted more— perhaps craved was a good word. It wasn’t that he wanted to enjoy it, it wasn’t even that he needed it anymore. But when he saw a kitchen knife, when he saw someone stumble and fall to their death, when he heard someone joke about a stick they found being their magical staff— he was reminded of times he did need it.</p><p>So he opened Dig Straight Down, a game that plays with your fears and your greediness. Nobody saw the malicious glint in his eyes as they mined a little too deep, too busy burning, and nobody saw the smile as he felt his communicator buzz with the announcement that so and so had tried to swim in lava.</p><p>But even that wasn’t enough.</p><p>Then he came up with Demise. The game practically explained itself— don’t die, and once you do, kill the rest. Last one standing wins. He banned PVP, simply to make it fair, but he could find other ways to satisfy his bloodlust.</p><p>But it moved along slowly at first, and he needed more action, more death. He came up with dares, each one doable but impossible if done incorrectly. </p><p>The first to die was Ren, thanks to his wonderful minigame. As he hit the ground and disappeared to smoke, Grian could feel a smile dragging at his lips and he laughed.</p><p>He blamed it on the ridiculous cause, but Ren had his reserves. Everyone was beginning to see this dark side of their friend, and the way he giggled uncontrollably made Ren equally uncomfortable. </p><p>Next was stress, same cause. She hit the ground at lightning speed, death upon impact.</p><p>Xisuma didn’t die from his game, and Grian could feel disappointment bubbling at the back of his mind. It scared him a little, when had he become like this? Was he always like this?</p><p>Xisuma noted the obvious unhappiness as he swooped up from the void, never happier to feel the air in his lungs. He decided it was just because Grian had to give him his diamonds instead of whatever darker reason it might have.</p><p>And the game continued, Grian eventually dying himself and happily setting up Doc’s death. Once he reappeared, the TNT— Grian’s old friend —exploded and he was blown to pieces with an unnaturally short shriek.</p><p>Rumours spread, how Grian was enjoying this a little too much, how Grian seemed to smile a little too wide when they perished, how he even profited directly from it with his Did You Die? Boxes. </p><p>But he ignored them if he heard, simply saying it was ridiculous and no, of course not, how could he ever enjoy such a morbid thing?</p><p>They fell for it.</p><p>The season changed. They restarted. New people joined that he hadn’t ever mer, but he paid them no mind for the most part.</p><p>He built his hobbit hole, seeing Scar’s village taking shape as he built Larry, then homes, then croplands and treehouses.</p><p>But he rarely visited, despite how amazing it was as far as architecture and design went. Scar’s outfit, or, the robes, at least, reminded him of long-passed days of horror. The spells he used reminded Grian of death with permanence, something he’d grown unaccustomed to. That wasn’t an acceptable thing here, nobody used the methods to achieve it, not anymore.</p><p>And most importantly, he was reminded of Sam. He didn’t ever want to think of him again.</p><p>So he distracted himself with the button and his search for the infinity gauntlet.</p><p>He didn’t want to kill half of the life on hermitcraft, that would definitely tarnish his reputation. He settled for doors instead and killed chickens and  other pesky birds in the privacy of his base</p><p>He also distracted himself by running Mumbo for Mayor of the Shopping District, a joke becoming more and more serious as more people began to tussle with him to get their seat on the diamond throne.</p><p>And Mumbo began to loose his grip on first place.</p><p>It was nothing to worry about. Just a game. Just a friendly competition. Nothing to get worked up about.</p><p>So he began, as the campaign manager, to find ways to get support. He managed to get a temporary vote from Scar, but that was it. Three votes total, and False was in the lead in no time. Even the temporary vote disappeared.</p><p>Grumbot did nothing for them, Jrumbot as well, and eventually he was even hijacked by the Get Gorgeous campaign. His son was re-marketed.</p><p>And suddenly, he snapped.</p><p>He grabbed his sword one day, gliding to False’s base with that same sense of purpose he’d had so long ago. She’d greeted him kindly, without worry, without precautions. He was her friend, wasn’t he?</p><p>She’d greeted him vulnerably.</p><p>And soon she was gone, disappeared in a puff of smoke.</p><p>But he’d gone farther. He’d done something unspeakable, something unacceptable, something horrible. He’d done something with consequences for both her and him, for everyone.</p><p>The soon-to-be winner, the main threat, of the mayoral campaign was gone. And she was gone forever.</p><p>All hell broke loose. Chaos everywhere, everyone terrified— who’d done it? Who had betrayed them? </p><p>A few people pointed fingers at Grian behind his back, suspicious of the sadistic man. But he acted shocked at the accusations, and being the good actor he was, forced himself to cry whenever the loss was mentioned.</p><p>He’d decided on Joe as his second, despite the man running for dogcatcher. Better safe than sorry.</p><p>It wasn’t too difficult, and although the poet had struggled and tried his best to overcome the madman that had invaded his home in search of blood, he didn’t stand much of a chance against him.</p><p>Then came Stress, the next in line.</p><p>She was much easier. She’d even invited him in for tea despite the situation, asked ‘What’s on your mind, love?’ and been so kind, so trusting. He’d played along for a while before getting up quietly as he finished and drawing his sword.</p><p>Another one gone.</p><p>He’d almost gotten Scar— almost. If it hadn’t been for Jellie, biting his ankle before he could deliver the final strike to the sobbing wizard in front of him, distracting him just long enough for Scar to cast a frantic and terrified spell to freeze him, he would have gotten away with it.</p><p>Scar screamed for help through his communicator, still shaking violently from the encounter, too violently to type. Voice messages worked just as well. When the other hermits began to arrive, he explained the situation  in broken sentences, slashed through by sobs and terrified glances at Grian, still frozen, glaring at him with a knife held up in a threatening position.</p><p>He explained why his robes were shredded, why his face was bleeding, why Jellie was hissing at anyone who moved a little too sharply or rose their voice.</p><p>To say the hermits were horrified would be an understatement, but there isn’t a word to describe the pure and undiluted emotion that washed over them as they listened to Scar’s retelling.</p><p>They put the rest of the pieces together. They had their murderer.</p><p>Mumbo was inconsolable, blaming himself for this. It was his fault for continuing to run for mayor after the joke, his fault for not noticing sooner that his friend was so horrible, his fault, his fault, his fault—</p><p>Everyone comforted him without hesitation, none of the blame falling on the grief-stricken redstoner.</p><p>When Xisuma spoke to Grian to ask why, the psycopath locked up and being held in a cell, he got no proper replies in return— only dark laughter and descriptions that made him want to cry and hurt Grian like he’d hurt his dear friends.</p><p>Three of his friends were dead. Three of his friends were dead because of the man he’d let join, the man he’d trusted, the man he had enjoyed the company of.</p><p>As admin, he needed to protect his family and friends, and Grian was nothing but a threat, someone turned evil through years of whatever he’d been through. Or maybe he‘d always been like this. Either way, Xisuma had made up his mind.</p><p>It wasn’t a decision that felt good to make, but it was necessary.</p><p>Grian has been banned by Xisumavoid</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yep, this was fun to write. new style, a more narrative approach— also sorry false stress and joe bc yall barely got any part of this </p><p>anyway hope you enjoyed, have a good morning/afternoon/night anybody reading this! (also, three uploads one day? i’m on fire)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>